


Keep Your Enemies Closer

by raphae11e



Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games), BioShock Infinite
Genre: (for Atlas lmao), (so so much witty banter), Banter, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time Bottoming, Hair-pulling, Hate Sex, Oral Sex, Pegging, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Rough Sex, Strap-Ons, Topping from the Bottom, Uneasy Allies, Unhealthy Relationships, kind of?????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-10-01 21:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20417087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raphae11e/pseuds/raphae11e
Summary: Elizabeth always knew she'd be keeping a close eye on Atlas, once she arrived in Rapture. Just... notthisclose of an eye.But as it turns out, neither of them are exactly complaining.





	Keep Your Enemies Closer

**Author's Note:**

> I just really, really wanted to write Atlas getting his masculinity cucked. Because he deserves it. Enjoy! ♡

"To be honest, love, I've half a mind to rethink our little arrangement."

Elizabeth snorts rather indelicately. She doesn't bother turning around, nor looking up from her task. "Getting cold feet, are we now, Atlas?"

"That's not what I said."

"Oh, isn't it?" This time, she refrains from laughing. Men's egos are only so strong, after all; testing Atlas's will come later. Instead, she rolls her shoulders, testing the confines of her outfit, and turns to face her temporary-- unfortunate-- ally.

Atlas doesn't change his position on the bed, but his expression does sharpen in interest. "Oh," he sighs, "but you are a _ sight." _

It's hard to resist the urge to fidget under his stare, but she manages. She's not used to wearing unmentionables with quite so many… _straps. _The shape of them presses against her shoulders, ribs, hips, thighs. Perhaps the black bustier is a little more her style, but the rest of it seems a bit much.

Then again, she's nothing if not performative when she's with Atlas.

A sort of anxious excitement fills the pit of her stomach, too, when she sees him look down between her legs-- and then suddenly away. If she'd known any better, she'd say he looked _ nervous. _

"An' I really can't convince you to do this the ol' fashioned way, can I?"

Elizabeth slides her hands down her waist, her hips, until she's gripping the remaining length of the straps in both hands. She tugs once, hard. The sudden motion pulls everything taut, and she surprises even herself by enjoying the slight burn of coarse fabric against her skin. 

She does not look away from Atlas. All that feigned nonchalance, and she can still read the tension in his posture. "A deal is a deal, isn't it?" she replies, voice sickly sweet.

Atlas exhales through his nose, glancing at her sidelong. "Fine," he relents. "Have it your way, pet."

"Oh, I will. And _ don't _call me that."

To Atlas's credit, he undresses fairly quickly. It seems that for all his posturing and attempts at bargaining, he isn't _ too _torn up about losing to her. Not even when he returns naked to the bed. Not even when Elizabeth approaches him in unhurried strides, heels against the hardwood, their eyes locked. And especially not when she reaches out to cradle his nape in one manicured hand, and kisses him.

Elizabeth smiles against his lips as she feels him fight to take the lead. _ Of course. _She is unfortunately, intimately familiar with the workings of men like Atlas: even in relinquishing control, they expect to retain it. Rough palms come up to grip her waist, a tongue presses insistently against the seam of her lips, thighs spread in order to pull her closer. She's a stranger to exactly none of these techniques.

But perhaps Atlas does not realize this about her. Because as soon as she bites down, teeth catching on the swell of his bottom lip, he recoils like he's been slapped.

"Well, look at that," he breathes. A daub of red is smeared over his chin, and when he smiles, he shows all of his teeth. "You've got a bit more’n sass, it seems."

Elizabeth doesn't give him the satisfaction of feeling as though he's figured her out. "Unlike _ some _people," she says, "I'm not all talk."

He looks briefly irritated by the insult-- _ good, _ she thinks, _ he could use the humility-- _but it doesn't last long. Not when a set of sharp, painted nails press into the line of his jaw, forcing his head to tilt backwards.

"You do as I say from now on," she tells him. "Is that understood?"

Silence. Then, the briefest incline of a head, long eyelashes fluttering as Atlas keeps his eyes on her.

Elizabeth sighs inwardly. Such a waste, that such handsome features should belong to someone so ugly inside. It's almost a crime. Not enough of one, though, to give her any sort of pause before she steps away and motions for him to turn around.

"Elbows on the mattress," she instructs.

He hesitates long enough that she has to press a palm to the base of his spine. When he finally does as he's told, however, Elizabeth allows herself a quiet hum of satisfaction. 

"I'll admit," she says, "this view does have a certain appeal to it."

Atlas huffs. "An' that wasn't the idea you had from the start?"

"Quiet. I'm savoring this."

She runs a palm over the swell of his ass-- gently, at first, barely there at all, but then without warning she digs her nails in. It earns her a hiss of pain and a shudder traveling up the broad expanse of muscled back now exposed to her. Atlas shifts his weight from one leg to the other, thighs flexing as he does so. 

“Well? You going t’get on with it?”

“I said--” She presses harder, harder, nails making indents in his flesh-- _ “Quiet.” _

To Atlas’s credit, he doesn’t speak again. One bright blue eye flashes in annoyance from over his shoulder, and even half obscured, she can picture the expression on his face: jaw tight, lips curled in the beginnings of a snarl. She wonders how long it’s been since he’s had to bend to someone else’s will.

Oh, she is going to _ enjoy _this. Perhaps more than she ought to.

Eventually, she pulls away, and Atlas cranes his neck to watch her make one final check of her equipment. Bustier in place, harness tightened, nylons secured. The weight of the strap-on rests comfortably between her hips. She wraps her fingers around it, stroking from base to tip; there’s a slight give, its surface smooth and velvety and slicked liberally with lube. Atlas had given her a skeptical look when she’d first showed it to him. 

“So that’s what you’re playin’ at, is it?” he’d said. “Christ. An’ you birds are always sayin’ size is no object.”

Elizabeth had only smiled, all affected innocence, and the subject had been dropped rather quickly. Good thing he’d had enough sense to come prepared; she didn’t think he’d take too keenly to the idea of her sharp nails spreading him open.

That doesn’t mean, however, that she can’t have a little _ fun _. Everything seemingly in order, she takes a moment to run said fingers between bare thighs, trailing up over the cleft of his ass. She keeps them gentle this time, nothing but the suggestion of violence. The entire length of his body tenses at the touch.

“None of that,” she scolds. “You have to stay relaxed.”

Atlas shifts restlessly, knees braced against the side of the mattress, hands fisted in the sheets. “A bit hard to, isn’t it?” he bites out. 

“Of course. But you have to do it anyway.”

“Easy for _ you _to say, love.”

Elizabeth lets out a breath through her nose. For such a cutthroat, cunning man, Atlas certainly is _ petulant. _ “I speak from experience. I am a _ bird, _after all.” She hears him take a breath, ready to retaliate, but she cuts him short with the slow friction of her hips against his thighs. The strap-on barely grazes him, but he falls silent as though struck dumb. 

“Now,” she says, with the air of a put-upon mistress, “Let’s get on with this, shall we?”

Before Atlas can stall any further, she presses her palms to his ass, thumbs keeping him spread open, and rolls her hips in earnest.

Though Elizabeth wouldn’t say that she lacks experience, she isn’t often quite so… _ adventurous _ with her usual sort of partner. As such, it takes her a moment to acclimate. The resistance of Atlas’s body against her own-- he _ hadn’t _relaxed of course, the bastard-- proves a problem at first. She doesn’t relent, instead widening her stance and rubbing soothingly over the junction between ass and upper thigh. 

Atlas hangs his head, nape already flushing a brilliant shade of pink, and exhales shaky and slow. _ So easily undone, _she muses. The thought alone is enough to make arousal flare white-hot in the pit of her stomach.

“Alright?” she asks-- not necessarily unkindly, but with the intention of humiliating him regardless. 

“…Yes.” 

_ Are you sure? _ She wants to continue. _ You don’t _ sound _ alright. Am I going too quickly for you, _pet?

But she doesn’t. She keeps on moving, hips sliding sinuously forward until she’s fully sheathed, hands resting at his waist for leverage. The solid muscles of Atlas’s shoulders and back roll with the movement. He won’t turn to look at her, and his thighs are trembling against her own, and Elizabeth grins.

In one smooth motion, she pulls out and then, with a _ snap, _ buries herself to the hilt.

_ “Fuck!” _ Atlas practically convulses beneath her. “You fuckin’ _ whore, _warn me before y--”

She repeats the motion again and all his breath leaves him in a choked groan. _ Serves him right. _Not a single part of her is sympathetic when she begins thrusting in earnest and hears Atlas hiss in pain, forehead pressed to the bed. 

In, out. "You'll get used to it." In, out. "Think of it like violence." In, out. "If you brace yourself, you'll only make things worse."

"Bold of you-- _ ngh, _ t-to lecture _ me _ on violence-- ah, _ Christ." _

“Very convincing.” 

Entertaining as it is to watch the man suffer, Elizabeth isn’t often one to relish in such things. When she bottoms out again, this time she stills. Silence falls over them for a moment as Atlas adjusts. A hand against his spine causes the tension to bleed out of him in slow, ebbing waves. 

“There, see? Not so hard after all.”

No response. She does, however, see the splotchy blush spread further. With her palm placed between his shoulder blades, she can feel the heat of it, along with the tacky sweat already beading on his skin. 

There’s a fine line that she’s learned to walk where Atlas is concerned. Despite all she’s had to do since leaving her tower in Columbia, she can only be so cruel-- even when it might be well-deserved. Atlas, though… he does force her hand, sometimes. If cruelty were ever a necessity, it would be with him. And perhaps, in the end, that’s what it will all come to.

But for now, she continues to walk that fine line. 

“Very good,” she tells him, deceptively soft. As she begins to move again, even slower than before, her hand passes over the width of his shoulders just to feel the way his muscles clench. “You’re a fast learner, _ aren’t _ you?”

Predictably, she can hear his teeth grit as he fights not to react to her condescension. It’s endearing almost, though in any other context, it would be anything but. 

Perhaps it’s these thoughts that tip the scales; perhaps it’s simply the rush of being, for once, in _ control. _Either way, Elizabeth decides-- quite abruptly-- that her goodwill has run dry.

She continues at the same pace, but deepens her strokes. Each press of skin against skin has it coming away sticky, lube and sweat following the contours of their bodies. Breathless, stifled sounds let her know that, silent as he is, Atlas is trying is hardest to remain composed. He doesn’t seem to notice the slow movement of her fingers over his nape.

That is, until she fists her hand in his ink-dark hair and _ pulls. _

A ragged gasp is forced from Atlas’s throat as his head jerks backwards. The movement bends his spine into a perfect arch, neck curved beautifully, ass pressed tight to her hips. He tries turning to glare at her, and she catches a glimpse of an open mouth ready with a retort-- but then her grip tightens, nails catching on his scalp. To her amusement, his whole body jerks at the sharp, needling pain. _ Sensitive there, maybe? _She files that information away for future reference.

However, her mind does briefly grace her with an image: Atlas pinned to the bed, mouth between her legs, dark brows furrowed as she buries both hands in his hair and forces him closer.

Arousal strikes her like lightning, and she bites her lip hard enough that she tastes blood. The one flaw to her equipment is that it leaves her, more or less, untouched. That absence makes her _ throb. _Can Atlas feel it, she wonders? The way her legs tremble as she rocks into him quicker, smoother? Even now, can he sense her weakness, so much like a shark drawn to the scent of blood?

Elizabeth has always been one to err on the side of caution. Now, however, she feels confident in doing just the opposite-- if only due to the harsh rasp of Atlas’s breathing, the shake of his shoulders, the twitch of his hips against the mattress. She watches the way his hands spasm in the sheets and tells him, “You’re going to come untouched.”

He laughs, but it sounds strained. “Y-You call this untouched?”

“I meant your cock.”

“I _ know _ what you-- _ ghh!” _

“Ahh. Found it.” Even someone as rotten as Atlas had to have a sweet spot hidden away somewhere. Elizabeth commits the angle of it to memory. She feels the give of flesh and resistance of muscle as their bodies meet again, and again, and again. 

Heat coils up her spine and spreads outwards, wildfire through her veins. She bares her teeth in a grin that borders on violent. When she curls the nails of her free hand into the meat of Atlas’s hip, he flinches at the sudden sting. She only digs them in harder, harder. The weight of her upper body presses down, down, until he’s effectively pinned to the edge of the bed. 

Lust-addled as he is, Atlas takes a whole second to rein himself in, fighting the urge to buck against her. Each thrust pulls his spine taut, sends him scrabbling for purchase, forced suddenly-- embarrassingly, she hopes-- into speechlessness.

“A-Ah, _ God _ \-- hah, _ ah, _ f- _ fuck-- _”

But not, it would seem, into silence.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Shame you can’t be this confident in your masculinity _ all _the time.” 

_ “Fuck _ you. Fuckin’, _ gh, _ i-in _ suff _ erable _ broad.” _

She hears it then: the lengthening of vowels, the slurring of syllables, the slight deepening of pitch. Just for a moment, Atlas loses grip of his identity. Elizabeth isn’t surprised; she’d learned of his duplicity what feels like weeks ago, and he’d made no attempt to deny it. Such things are better left unspoken.

And yet the sound of that change, however brief-- that little waver in control-- turns her insides molten.

It doesn’t take long after that for their rhythm to fall apart. The burn in her muscles shortens each movement into something panicky and desperate, arms trembling from the tight grip she’s keeping on Atlas. Though part of Elizabeth wants to continue being unkind, when she sees his thighs spread further and body tense, she lets it happen.

She buries herself inside him and stays there, toy pressed harshly against that one perfect spot, and Atlas goes nearly still as he comes. Save for a few mindless twitches of his hips, all of his muscles lock, his head pressed back against her palm like he’s trying to ground himself. The silence around them is filled by ragged breathing and the sound of skin against now-dirty sheets. 

Pulling back ever so slightly, Elizabeth releases her hold long enough to slip a hand between them and sink two fingers into her pussy. The slick there nearly masks the sharp prick of her nails against sensitive nerves. But… the pain isn’t _ too _bad, really. Not when it makes her stomach clench in anticipation, vision spotting as she reaches the edge and-- 

Stops. 

Something dawns on her. And though the loss pains her, she pulls her fingers away and steps back, pulling out of Atlas completely. He makes a noise like he’s been gutted. He’s only half-turned before the strap-on and harness are already hitting the floor, and his eyes widen in the first true mixture of surprise and confusion she has ever seen on his face.

“What’re you--”

His question is cut off by the shove of her hand against his shoulder. “Back. On the bed.”

“What-- why? But we--”

“No, _ you _did. Back up.”

Though he’s still flushed enough to look feverish, Atlas’s brows draw together in obvious annoyance. “Hold on,” he starts, “that wasn’t the--”

“It most certainly _ was _ the deal, because saying _ we _ should have sex implies that _ both _parties will benefit. Now lie back on the bed. Unless you’d prefer a second round, yourself?”

If she hadn’t been so singularly focused on the matter at hand, Elizabeth would’ve laughed at just how _ white _ Atlas turns beneath his blush. But she _ does _ take a moment to admire the view after he mutters a reluctant “alright, alright,” and obeys. There’s a slight shake to his limbs from the aftershocks of his orgasm, and come is drying tacky between his thighs, and the bright imprints of her nails stand out stark against his skin. 

She climbs over him carefully, her own legs just as shaky from the momentary pleasure she’d allowed herself. Atlas doesn’t move to help her, of course; just sits there, propped on his elbows, watching as she straddles his chest. He tilts his chin to look up at her with eyebrows raised, all feigned innocence.

“Well?”

“Don’t play dumb,” she snaps. “Lie back.” 

With a brief smile, he does so. As he situates his head and shoulders against the pillow, he adds, “Gotta say-- I don’t do this sorta thing often.”

Elizabeth snorts. “I’m shocked.”

“What I _ mean _is, in case you hadn’t noticed, there ain’t too many Rapture women joinin’ the revolution.”

“Ahh. I’m sorry-- do you do this sort of thing with men, then?”

Atlas actually stops what he’s doing and gives her an irritated look. “That’s not what I said.”

“No. But you didn’t deny it either, did you?”

It’s very, very hard for her to stifle her laugh as she watches his blush deepen and eyes avert. But she does manage to brace herself just in time for two rough hands to grab the backs of her thighs and pull her forward.

“Fuckin’ unbelievable,” Atlas mutters as she hooks her legs over his shoulders. 

“Now, now.” Her hands sink easily into his hair, pale fingers and crimson nails against dark locks. “Neither of us came here to talk, did we?”

In lieu of responding, Atlas tips his chin back to press his face between her legs.

_ “Ohh.” _ Despite how easy it is to pick away at the man’s ego, Elizabeth doesn’t think she’ll ever stop-- not when doing so gets her _ this. _Her hips cant downwards on instinct as a warm tongue spreads her folds. A sort of sharp, burning, throbbing sensation travels up through her and settles in her chest, expanding and contracting with each breath. The slick slide against her nerves has her thighs twitching and her fingers clenching tight.

Atlas groans-- _ sensitive here, right, _she remembers, and so she tightens her grip more. The sounds he makes in response, pained but not all that unappreciative, set off fireworks behind her eyes. 

“God,” she gasps out, “we are _ definitely _doing this again.”

At that, Atlas actually laughs. She’s halfway through riding out the bone-deep sensation of it when he curls his tongue further, pressing it deep. She has to bite her lip to muffle her moan. The hands behind her slide up to grip her ass and squeeze, _ hard. _ Part of her wants to scold him for it, but when he uses the new leverage to press her tight to his mouth, she can’t bring herself to be mad.

His stubble scrapes harsh against her inner thighs. The tongue inside her slides sinuously over everything, hot as a brand, setting her alight. One of his hands slides forward between her legs, and a thumb presses down on her clit. Elizabeth’s mouth falls open, her spine curving as she leans forward into the sensation--

Her orgasm hits her hard, hips rutting mindlessly as she chases it. At some point, her eyes must squeeze themselves shut, because when she opens them again, her vision spots with bright blooms of color. Every part of her feels boneless. Like she’s been struck by lightning.

When she glances down, a pair of blue, half-lidded eyes meet hers. Atlas looks dazed, and she realizes her hands are still fisted in his hair. She lets go, flexing her fingers, wincing at the stiffness of them.

“Well, ah.” It takes a conscious effort to slide herself backwards until she’s seated again on Atlas’s chest. “That was certainly something.”

Atlas, for his part, lets his head drop onto the pillow with a ragged exhale. His mouth looks even more kiss-bruised now, his lips and chin wet with slick. “You,” he says, “are a fuckin’ _ chore. _Holy shit.” It’s said with less vitriol than his usual insults, however, and so Elizabeth counts it as a win.

“As if you aren’t,” she retorts. 

“Me? Maybe I’m rememberin’ wrong, but I’m fairly certain I’m the one who got fucked.”

“Yes. And were an absolute child about it the whole time.”

Atlas huffs out a laugh, rubbing a palm over his face. “Yeah, yeah,” he relents. “Whatever you say.” Still pliant from sex, he’s less inclined to rise to the bait, it seems. 

Even while basking in her afterglow, the thought still gives Elizabeth pause. _ Pliant? _Since when has she ever considered a man like Atlas to be pliant? It’s a dangerous way of thinking, she knows-- especially since she’s seen just how cruel he is capable of being.

This relationship is most certainly bad for her. It can only end poorly. 

“When can we do this again?” she asks.

Atlas grins at her, eyes bright and still infinitely cold. “Whenever you’d like, _ Miss Comstock.” _

And that, as they say, settles that.

**Author's Note:**

> I drew art for this fic too, if anyone's interested. >B^) Check me out on Twitter as "raphdoods" or Instagram as "raphnastyy"!


End file.
